Honorable The Second Time Around
by AkashaAvani
Summary: He had messed things up the first time he met her, but now that fate-or whatever it was-had crossed their paths again, Corporal Damon Worth knew he had to take the chance he hadn't been able to the first time. Ziva/Damon! Post OaI-L, rated M for safety ;P
1. NC1S

_**A/N:** Hey, to all you NCIS fans out there, if you're a Tony/Ziva lover, there's really nothing against him. I loved that pairing too, and I still do, but I saw Outlaws and In-Laws and went, hmmm... now **THERE** is a guy Ziva can fight for--and with! Review if you like it and seriously, feel free to suggest something for the future chapters. Flamers, be doomed to Tartarus. :D Much love! _~Kasha

* * *

"Ziva? Is that you?"

The name above her shocked her out of the bomb-created daze she'd been under. Looking up, she saw one man-considerably larger than the others in terms of build- crouching right in front if her.

"Damon?"

A smile grew as he took off his mask. Though the hair was much longer than it had been last time they had met, she remembered that face instantly.

Tony craned his head up to look from her to the man standing a few feet away. "Wait a second, you know this guy?"

"Corporal Damon Worth, USMC, dishonorably discharged."

"Oh yeah," Tony said looking almost as if he were drugged.

A mercenary came behind Tony and roughly grabbed his arms behind his back. "Gimme your hands." Ziva could tell he was of African descent by the accent and the way what little skin she could see beneath his mask was a dark brown, natural.

Damon leaned closer to her, worry in his eyes, though he tried to hide it. "What are you doing here?" he asked softly.

"This is Gibbs's living room," she looked for a second at the damages done. It _had_ been a living room.

Tony gave a lopsided grin as he was jerked roughly by the man tying his wrists. "What're you doing here?"

Damon looked from Tony to Ziva, looking unsure, but... there was an odd look as his eyes met hers, as if he wanted her to believe what he was saying. "Rescuing a kidnapped little girl and her mother..."

Ziva nodded understandingly, but held his gaze. "I'm sorry to tell you, but you're actually abducting them."

"Hey, Worth," Tony's bondman said abruptly, cutting off their unspoken words. "Cut the chit-chat, just secure the prisoners."

Damon leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling, a smile that showed how much he was warring inside, his loyalties at odds. "I can't. We're making a mistake."

The other man went toe to toe with Worth, anger written across his features. "Boss's got a lotta money ridin on this job; we're gonna finish with or without-"

The man never saw it coming, and honestly neither did Ziva. One minute he was still and looked troubled, confused, the next he had launched himself at the man, swinging a hard arm into his head and snapping it to the side. The man crumpled heavily. Before he had even hit the ground Damon was turning to his right, pivoting. Ziva saw one man behind the marine raising his weapon and shot upwards, bringing her knee into a sensitive place and then spinning to bring her heel down on his collar bone, effectively bringing him down. She heard a metallic crash and spun, only to find Damon looking around him in disbelief. He obviously had _not_ thought this night would turn out so differently from the rest.

"I think we should hear them out, don't you?" He looked up at her and smiled, a small, 'What do I do now?' smile that tugged at her heart. She found herself smiling back, wanting to console him more, but unable to.

"Come on, Worth-y," Tony said amicably, patting the man's shoulder as he carefully maneuvered through the floor strewn with unconscious men. "Let's round up the troops and go catch the bad guy!"


	2. NC2S

Ziva slogged through paperwork, trying to keep her mind from thinking about the night before. She had told Tony that she had asked to become a citizen here in the States because she wanted to settle down, but she hadn't realized she needed the thrill so much. The excitement, the energy, the adrenaline rushing through her as she reacted and fought beside someone.

"Something bothering you, Ziva?"

She looked up sharply, startled, and gave Gibbs a small smile. "No, nothing. Just a rough night's sleep, nothing I cannot handle."

He looked at her silently, his eyes searching her face for what he sought. He didn't turn, but raised his voice just the slightest bit "What're you working on, Dinozzo?"

Tony jumped and tried to look like he _hadn't _been eavesdropping. "Uh... the case... Boss..."

"Yeah, what about it?"

"Just clearing up the mess of papers, legal work... Stuff," he finished with an odd head roll/shake that said he had no idea what exactly he was saying.

The corner of Gibbs's mouth twitched and he winked at her before turning his face into a just-barely-angry look that was more than a little intimidating. "Just that? Take Ziva's work and make sure it's done by tomorrow. You," he said, nodding to Ziva, who watched with awe and secret glee, "go home. Go sleep. Just go out." He walked to his desk, signature coffee in hand, and sat.

"But, Boss, she only has like three pages left!" Tony looked indignant.

"...So?" Gibbs gave nothing away.

"Well, she...I mean it's..." he looked from her to Gibbs and back again. Then back at Gibbs. He held out his hand with narrowed eyes. Stifling the chuckle she knew was building in her chest, she handed the almost ten pages worth of legalities still undone and nodded to Gibbs with a smile before gathering her coat and purse as quickly as possible. She made it into the elevator, thankfully empty, before she started to laugh.

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Ziva tried to concentrate on the book she was reading, a secret romance novel she had picked up because it actually sounded wonderful. It was, really, it was very good, yet she couldn't focus on it. She had too much energy today to sit and do _nothing._

Sighing heavily, she gave in to a childish temptation and tossed the book up into the air and heard it land with a satisfying plop behind her. She would chide herself later on being so cruel to an innocent book. Right now, she was going out.

To where, though?

She had no wish to go shopping, as Abby loved, no compulsion to see bad movies, and her computer seemed to only wish to start with a blue screen she was rapidly starting to hate. She'd have to have Tim take a look at it. He could fix it.

Now, how to fix her current problem? She didn't want a sweaty workout in the gym, although she did feel the need to have that energy going through her.

Ah! Her fast runs. Not her early morning jog, but a new, faster paced run she had mapped for herself. It cut through the woods along a narrow path and made her stay on her feet...no that was not right. Stay on her toes! That was it! It made her stay on her toes, because she had to watch out for roots that had been exposed. Although the trail was narrow and bow fairly dangerous, it was obvious that someone used it often enough to erode enough of the soil to wear away the earth.

Yes, this would do marvelously. And then, after that, she could finally sit and enjoy the new Sherrilyn Kenyon book!

Smiling broadly, she dressed in comfortable cutoffs that stopped at her knees and a tight tank, perfect for running because it didn't slow her down.

She parked and noticed several other cars, but paid no heed. Not many would be brave enough to risk breaking an ankle on her trail. Well, not hers, exactly, but she liked to think of it as so.

Within minutes of starting into the dense foliage she knew she'd made the right choice. The anticipation of the steep grade coming up just ahead, followed immediately by the sharp turn, was _exactly _what she needed right now!

Knowing her way well, she took flying steps that carried her down the slide, then caught a tree and flung herself around the corner.

She hit the hard body and sent them both tumbling, knocking the wind out of her and startling her out of her adrenaline-high enough that she moved reflexively, instantly rolling--or trying too. The arms that had caught her as the flew backwards were now locked around her body and pinned her arms to her side.

"Jesus, Ziva, you still pack a punch!"

Her head flew up, hard enough to nearly crack her skull against an equally hard jaw, and she swore harshly.

"I have no idea what you said, but I think I agree. Ow." Damon's arms let go and he helped her to stand, rubbing his jaw with his other hand. Since Ziva could find no other reaction except to either be embarrassed for nearly running him over - while _swinging from a tree!_ - or give in and rub her own wound, which seemed to have cleaved her cranium like a rock pick, she gave in to the only reaction she could think of. Laughter.

Standing up straightly now and looking up at how his eyes danced with the same humor, she laughed and wiped off her clothes, which were now covered in dusty dirt.

"I am so sorry! I just-" she didn't know how to finish, and ended up just waving her arm at the tree and shaking her head, laughing harder.

Damon grinned. "Don't be. It's not every day someone kicks me off my feet. I'll tell you what, I saw you coming down that slope and I nearly tripped myself. I thought for sure it was impossible to go down _that_- " he pointed to the trail, which, now that she saw it from this angle, looked very intimidating, indeed, "at that kind of speed." He glanced at his watch. "Why are you out here, anyway? Don't you honest people have work?"

It was her turn to grin. "Gibbs sent me out, after giving Tony my entire folder of work to do."

He laughed. "Oh, I bet he _loved _that."

"Not as much as he would most likely like to kill me right now." They both laughed at that. Somehow they were strangely at ease, given the odd way of meeting.

A harsh sound to her left caught her attention, he same time it did his. They both jumped back silently and hid, Damon behind a very large tree, completely hidden, while Ziva jumped to a low-hanging pine tree and climbed upwards to a safe distance. She could see Damon and whoever was crashing towards the trail. She saw two large men break through the treeline, looking around before leaning against trees. She held her breath-one was leaning on the opposite side of the very one Damon was using as cover! And while the timber was massive, it was only a matter of feet if the man chose to look around it.


	3. NC3S

_Ziva saw two large men break through the treeline, looking around before leaning against trees. She held her breath-one was leaning on the opposite side of the very one Damon was using as cover! And while the timber was massive, it was only a matter of feet if the man chose to look around it._

* * *

Thankfully, the man took no precautions, taking out a cell phone and pressing a number on speed dial. "It is done," he said in French, his voice heavily accented, but she could not pinpoint exactly where, which bothered her immensely.

"Yes. Drop off at the agreed upon location and time." He listened, then said something so low she couldn't hear it. Looking to his partner angrily, he jerked his head and they travelled down the trail. Silently, Ziva made her way effortlessly down the maze of branches until she felt Damon take her weight easily, his hands around her waist, and set her on the ground.

"Did you understand any of that?" he asked seriously, his eyes troubled.

"Yes. And it did not sound good. He said 'it's done.'"

"That sounds ominous," he tried to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. Ziva had to agree, and she said so.

She sighed. "I should probably call Gibbs and let him know."

"Let me guess, there goes the afternoon off, huh?"

This time it was her turn to wince. "Yes, most likely." She dialed and reported to him what exactly had happened, minus her playing Tarzan, and what she'd heard the man say. Gibbs listened, made uh-huh noises, but otherwise said nothing for a long time.

"Hang low for a while, Zive, and make sure you and Worth stick together. You're safer like that for right now. Understand?"

"Yes, of course." Not really, but that was more because it was the last thing she had expected him to say.

"Good. I'll see you in 24 hours. Got it?"

"Yes, Gibbs. I'll be fine." She smiled, thought he couldn't see it.

"Good." He hung up, and Ziva tucked her phone into her pocket, relaying he message to Damon.

While he looked a little shocked at first, he made up for it quickly. Smiling, he shook his head. "You know, we seem to have a problem meeting. First, I'm more drugged than a cancer patient, then you're half-deaf from flash grenades, and now I've been knocked on my-" he cut off abruptly, censoring that part, "back...and now this." He laughed.

Ziva grinned, in spite of the situation. "Well, if you don't mind getting knocked on your...back...then this should be no problem. After all, I did happen to think that I was Tarzan and swing from a tree. So what could this do?"

Damon looked thoughtful for a moment. "I dunno, I thought that was kind of cool." Her look must have shown her disbelief, because he shrugged. "I'll have to try it sometime."

Ziva laughed now, looking from the tree to him. "I don't mean to be rude, but that tree cannot possibly handle you..." she waved her arms around.

"Going Tarzan on it?" he supplied for her sweetly.

She narrowed her eyes at him, managing to only urn a little red. "Yes, fine, 'going Tarzan on it.'"

Damon looked about to say something, then stopped. He cocked his head to the side, then dove for her. This time, when they fell, they rolled to the side, a shot echoing and missing the spot where he had been standing. More shots peppered the area, following after them in a beeline. She felt a bullet shred through skin and a bit of muscle, heard Damon's breath being sucked in as one brushed him as well, and the they stopped abruptly, his broad back hitting a tree with enough force to jar _her_ teeth, let alone his.

Training took over and they both ignored any pain they felt, getting up and running towards the parking lot down below, staying out of sight and running like mad when they couldn't. Her car was closer, and she unlocked it in the run, jumping into the driver's seat while Damon slammed into his with enough force to make the entire frame rattle and shake dangerously. Ziva didn't pause as bullets hit the windshield, instead whipping he car into a tight o turn that banged him against the door. Needless to say he buckled up quickly.

It was only by skill on Ziva's part that the sniper missed hitting the tires, and even then it was close. She sped out of the park and only slowed for regular, oncoming traffic.

"You drove here, I'm assuming?" she said, calming her breath slowly. When he didn't answer right away she turned to look at him. He looked a little nauseous. "Are you alright?"

"Where the hell did you learn to drive like that?" he asked, finally loosening taut muscles and closing his eyes.

She grinned wickedly. "Mossad did not take the speed limit seriously during a firefight."

He looked over at her and saw her smile. "They obviously had never put a woman on a rampage behind the wheel before, either."

"I was not on a-" she turned as well and saw him smiling. She laughed. "Okay, I might have been a little fast, but I was _not_ on a rampage." She grinned evilly now, and he saw it. "Ask Tim and Tony sometime what their first-and fortunately only-experience of my driving was like." She glanced at him. "At least you kept your stomach inside if you."

Damon laughed, shaking his head at her sharp sense of humor.

"Okay, can see that. And yes, to answer your question, I drove." He sobered quickly. "Shit. My car."

"Yes, that was my thought as well." Her eyes constantly glanced around in the mirrors, making sure they were not being followed. "You cannot go back to your house. Thy will follow you there. Is there someplace you can stay?"

"We, and no. I may not be under his thumb, but I know an order when I hear one, and Gibbs said to stick together, so consider us stuck."

She grinned. "It had slipped from my mind. Thank you. Alright, my apartment it is. After we get done sewing ourselves back together, I can cook dinner."

He looked at her, a combination of surprised and wary. "You cook?" The words he didn't say-but she still heard-were _is it edible?_

She flicked a superior look towards him. "Yes, I cook. And I do it well, thank you very much. Why is this so surprising?"

Damon chuckled. "I've just never met a warrior woman who knows how to cook. Then again, I never met a woman I could call a warrior before you period."

Ziva felt her insides do a funny roll at the odd compliment and smiled. "Thank you, Damon. I don't think anyone has said something like that to me in quite some time."

"You're welcome, Ziva."


	4. NC4S

Ziva drove to her new apartment without much trouble, but when someone cut her off she swore in Arabic. Just a little. Enough to make Damon laugh and ask her to teach him what she'd said.

They entered her apartment still laughing and she hung her keys in a niche in one of doors to a cupboard in the kitchen, then looked back at him for the first time since arriving.

_He does not look so out of place_.

Damon had his back to her, his face tilting to rue side so she could see he was taking in every detail- and enjoyed what he saw.

After living for years in bland colors, she had argued with the land lord until he was intimidated enough to let her paint, as long as she returned everything to its normal white when she moved. Now the living room was a soft blue, a shade caught in the middle of dark and medium. The kitchen was yellow with green tiles, homey with copper pots and pans hanging above the shiny black stove. She had large, comfy furniture that obviously piqued his interest, because a smile spread across his face.

"Does it meet your approval?" she leaned against the door frame, watching him curiously.

He turned and smiled at her, a soft smile that probably should have been at odds with all of the muscles and strength, but wasn't.

"Yeah. I always think of a girl's place as being like my sister's, with obnoxious colors and frilly furniture."

"I take it my home does _not_ have obnoxious colors and frilly furniture?"

Damon nodded slowly. "It fits you."

Ziva half laughed, surprised. "For all you know, I could have had someone paint all of this for me!"

He shook his head. "No , there really is a lot of you in it." He nodded his head towards the living room, where the blue of the walls was at home with the soft red and green and sand colors. "I bet this is where you read, probably a night, with a lamp that gives off a soft gold glow." When Ziva only stared, he smiled. "And you really do love to cook. The energy in this room alone invites someone in. This is a spot you know you dominate over, but you like others to be in there talking with you while you do, hence the warmth in the room."

Ziva finally nodded, looking down. "Yes, that is very true." She looked up at him, and hers eyes showed too many shadows. "This place is my home. It is not a poor hotel room or just another place to me. It is..." she couldn't find the right word for it.

"Home," Damon whispered, wondering where she had gotten such deep scars from, why they seemed so new and ragged, when just yesterday she had been so strong. Who had hurt her?

Ziva smiled suddenly, nodding to his arm. "You, however, are going to bleed on my rug. I believe that I have some clothes that might fit you."

Damon grinned. "Ziva, you may be larger than life, but I don't think anything you have will fit me."

She smiled. "No, but I used to know someone who was almost your size. Not quite as... well... _big,_ but around your height."

Damon felt a surge of a strange emotion at the thoughts behind why there would be men's clothes at her place, but he tamped it down. The ache in her voice was completely foreign to him. Was this who had hurt her?

"What...ah...happened to him, if I might ask."

She paused for only the slightest of seconds before she opened a drawer. "He is dead."

Damon would have felt terrible for bringing up something like that, but the way her fingers tensed...she was _angry_ at the man still. He had missed a lot in the past few years. He would have to ask and see what, maybe ask her, but he had a feeling she might not be receptive to that. Not yet, anyway. She had yet to realize that he'd meant it when he'd said he would stick to her like glue. Right now they were both bleeding, more than a little vulnerable emotionally, and she was holding out to him a dead man's clothes.

He nodded and watched her walk out the room. She had more wounds then the graze of a bullet on her arm. He knew she could patch that up easily. It was as if she had been born a fighter, not just trained to be one. But the ragged edges on her heart... that was something he worried about. She could deal with physical pain, but what about emotional pain? It was as if she had no idea she still felt it, it had been there for so long?

He could help her- _would _help her, he promised. He had messed up before, he knew that. He'd known then, when he was so drugged that he couldn't even tell friend from foe, that there was something about her that pulled him to her. That something caught at him, drew him in. He hadn't had a chance then, disappointed her when she had found out the truth.

He had messed it up then. But he could fix it now, help her through this, whatever it was, whatever had left such a dark mark on her heart. Ziva would figure out that he was here to stay, and that he would _never_ hurt her.

He smiled, pulled on a shirt that was the slightest bit too tight through the chest and arms, and grimaced. There was a sound of stretching seams as his shoulders demanded more room, a feeling of fire as a zing of pain ran through his arm as the shirt clamped on the wound too snugly. Damn, the height was about right, but the bulk was off by a long shot. Shrugging off the discomfort, he exchanged his ragged cutoffs for a pair of nice pants which fit nicely in comparison.

"Do I meet your approval?" he grinned as he stepped out of the shadowy hallway and into the soft lighting of the living room. Ziva spun, then pressed a hand to her heart.

"You startled me, Corporal." She smiled.

"Damon, Ziva. I'm ex-marine now."

She grinned now. "And I have learned that there is no such thing as an ex-marine."

He laughed, noticing how her smile lit her eyes, how the soft lighting made her skin look like gold. If it had been anyone other than her, he would have thought he was thinking like an idiot, but with her...she had haunted his dreams fir years, made him wonder what if, a question he had learned to hate, because it made him remember that she had frowned upon him so much because he had done what he had to, just to be a marine. But now...now she was laughing with him, joking, and even with disheveled hair and still in a bloody shirt, she was beautiful. Dark hair that was lit with fire from the light, depthless eyes that had haunted his waking hours and lips that had followed him in his dreams.

It was Ziva, and fate-or whatever it was-had thrown them together again. He wasn't going to miss the chance he had wished for for years.

"I suppose you're right. _Especially_ when it comes to Gibbs. He'll be 107 and still a marine."

She laughed, motioning for him to sit on the couch as she gathered the tools for stitching. He thought, then looked at her again. "I guess if I were to say ladies first-"

"I would be tempted to make you sit on the couch, as it would be quickest with most people, but you are stronger and much faster than the last time we met, so I will just point out that it would be harder for a lady to stitch someone else while in pain from her own stitches." She smiled wickedly.

Damon fake-sighed and sat down. He looked down at the shirt, then up at her. "I don't think you can roll it up. It's...er...rather tight."

She laughed. "As evidenced by the lack of blood circulation through your arm. Here, hold still." She carefully gripped the edges and with a smooth, painless pull, ripped the shirt. He sighed in relief, trying to hide the thrill that raced through him at her undervalued strength. "Hah, much better. I think I can almost feel the limb again."

She laughed, turning and walking away, giving him an excellent view at her backside, which he quickly glanced away from. He would take this slow, and he didn't know if he could with that sort of temptation.

"Here, drink this." She held up a thick glass filled with an amber liquid to his line of sight.

"You drink whiskey?" his brows rose, shocked.

"I prefer tequila, but you seem like you would enjoy this more." Humor glinted in her eyes, challenging him.

He nodded to her, then took a deep swallow. He choked, looking up in alarm as his pain seemed to dull instantly---along with some of his esophagus and stomach lining. "Jesus," he croaked. "What _is_ this stuff? Gut-rot?"

"A special blend that my father used to drink. I hate the stuff, but thought that maybe someday someone else would like it."

He heard a note in her voice when she said father, a cross between anger and grief. _He hurt her,_ Damon realized, and felt his own anger rise. No, he couldn't let that influence him right now. He would ask Gibbs someday if Ziva did not tell him herself, but now was not a time for those thoughts.

"It amazes me that he lives, then, because this will kill you. If not from alcohol poisoning right away, then by the way it burns your insides away." He shuddered and set it down. "No more if that, or you'll look like Frankenstein." And he'd make an idiot of himself, probably say some really stupid crap she wouldn't  
be ready to handle just quite yet.

He watched as she knelt in front of him, eyes concentrated on his injury, hands sure and steady. She was sure, but compassionate, moving quickly but making sure to not cause any more pain. Her work was even and tidy, her face calm in spite of the blood covering her hands.

"Are you going to continue to stare, or will you say something?" he heard no anger, only serene curiosity. Something only Ziva could manage in a situation like this, he was sure.

"I was just wondering how the hell I'm going to patch you up while my eyes start crossing." He grinned.

She reacted as he'd hoped, laughing softly to make sure not too jar his flesh as she continued to sew. "I can manage if you cannot. It would most certainly_ not_ be the first time."

He frowned a bit. "No, I don't like the sound of that." She paused the slightest amount of time, then smiled gently.

"Alright. Then I suppose you will have to find a way to sober enough to not make me look like Frankenstein. I would not like to explain to Gibbs why, and I would have to kill Tony after the first dozen jokes. There," she said, tying the end and snipping it, then leaning back to check that everything was perfect.

"Done already? Alright, where's your tequila at?"

"That is alright, Corp-"

"Damon. And what, are you going to out-man me by not needing a drink?" he raised a brow at her, the same challenge in his eyes as hers when she'd held up the hell-brew.

"Alright, Damon. It's in the cupboard up and to the left of the stove."

He smiled like a little boy who had been given a gift he had been wanting for a long time. Ziva puzzled over this while she heard him moving about in her kitchen.

What she didn't quite realize was that he actually felt like that. Well, not exactly. He _definitely_ didn't feel like a little boy around her, but at the moment he did feel like he'd been given a gift. She had accepted him in her home, and was finally comfortable with it. Perhaps this was all moving too fast, pushing them together so closely in too short of a time, but he felt like he had waited forever for her. If he had to wait another year to get her to see that he was serious about this, he would wait, but the fact that she was okay with him in her home excited him. He didn't think she let others in it a lot, or even wanted anyone else in _her_ space.

He managed to tamp down his happiness enough that he didn't look like a star-struck kid when he return with a glass of tequila in hand.

"That is a lot of alcohol, Damon." She raised an eyebrow, wanting the reason for it.

Grinning, he fake-sighed. "You caught me," he dead-panned. "I'm actually trying to get you so drunk you will think I am a hero for saving you."

"Saving you? And when would you have saved me? I do not believe I recall such a time." She laughed, but took the glass and sipped.

He shrugged, kneeling down in front of her and looking at her arm critically. The bullet had caught more of her arm than his had, but it didn't look too bad. "The sniper was over your shoulder. That's why you didn't see him. The guy was close enough that the bullet would have gone through you and into me, as close as we were at that point."

She didn't look pleased by this, but didn't say anything because the disinfectant he used made her grit her teeth. His had hurt like a son of a bitch, so he could imagine what sort of hell-fire it must feel like for her.

"Sorry, he murmured, and waited. When she didn't drink anything more, he took the glass himself and brought it to he lips. "Come on, warrior woman. A couple sips won't unman you." He grinned, knowing she would take that as a challenge.

She grinned--and tossed back the rest like a pro. "You were saying?"

He sighed. "A woman who can out-drink me. Maybe I should've had you drink some of that stuff you sicked on me." He watched her closely, watched as the amount of alcohol in the drink she had just thrown back made its way through her body and slowly to her head. She didn't look drunk, but the rigidness left her and her muscles loosened.

"Are you wasted enough that I can ask deep dark secrets and you'll answer them?" He put a hopeful look on his face, making her laugh even while he began to sew her torn flesh back together.

"Perhaps, but right now I would probably end up asking _you_ them."

He looked up, startled. "Ziva, how much alcohol was in that?" Why hadn't he thought to look at that beforehand?

She looked like it took her a while to remember. "I believe it is more than usual. I liked the taste of it, but I usually only have it in small amounts."

"Ziva, what's the proof?"

"90... no, more. It is close, though."

Jesus, and he had given her a glass! Granted, it hadn't been full, but still, it amazed him that she was still as lucid as she was.

"Okay, so we now know you can drink an army of men under the table. What else don't I know about you?"

She thought, then looked sad. "A lot has happened. I wouldn't know where to begin."

"Try."

She smiled, looking a him. "Do you still use..." she paused, obviously wondering how to be polite.

He laughed. "No, Ziva, I'm clean. I stopped after that."

Now she looked confused, her head cocked to the side. It was kind of cute. "Then why are you still so big? I thought you had anemia."

"I do. After that it didn't seem to bother me so much, but I heard of an herbal thing for it." He shrugged. "I have to work harder to keep my build, but it's worth it."

"I like it," she said absently, and he grinned, though he kept his head bent so she couldn't see. He wasn't one to get the girl drunk, but damn if it wasn't nice right now.

"Tell me about NCIS, Ziva."

The words had the opposite effect that he'd thought of. She went rigid, her jaw locked, and she said nothing. The total shutting down of her face alarmed him.

"Ziva? Ziva, what's wrong?" He stopped working and straightened, searching for something that would tell him what was wrong. "Ziva," he said carefully. "What is it? What happened?"

She looked away, but he brought he took her chin in two fingers and gently made her look at him. The pain in her eyes debilitated him. Betrayal, hurt, grief, everything she had buried was close to the surface now. He looked at her for a long moment and understood that this sort of pain needed to be spoken out loud, or it would never heal.

"Ziva, what happened?" He looked away, going back to his work so he could finish it and then take care of the gash someone had left on her heart.

With him not looking so closely, it was easier for her to tell him what she thought she had been over already. "About six months ago a man I had previously thought dead showed up in Washington. His name was Michael Rivkin. He was... sent by my father to try and win me back. By any means possible." She paused, silent as the seconds ticked by.

Damon felt rage building up at what he could feel was coming. Hurt, betrayal...

"So he came here, working as a double agent for my father to find a cell in the Taliban-or at least that's what he told me, but I know now it wasn't true- and..."

"You loved him."

She laughed now, tears spilling over. "Yes, I did. I thought that he did too." She shook her head with a self-depreciating smile. "I wasn't thinking. I believed him even when Tony kept trying to tell me the truth. And then..." her breathing hitched as Damon finished us stitching and he looked up immediately, at first assuming he had pulled too hard. He saw tears falling down her face and felt the anger rage while his insides did a tumble and roll.

"Ziva..."

She shook her head obviously determined to state her crimes. "I came back to my apartment one day to her shots firing. I opened the door, gun drawn, and nearly shot Tony when I saw his gun drawn. I looked over, and Michael was dead on my floor!"

"What did you do then?"

"I withdrew from NCIS, went to Israel and learned that my father thought I was a traitor. All he could do was complain about me. So I tried to prove my worth. I stayed on a ship where I killed too many people, and then, when I was captured and tortured, my father t-turned his back on me and left me for dead. Do you know what they wanted to know about?"

"NCIS." Damon's voice was barely a whisper.

Ziva nodded, a harsh laugh sounding that gave him chills. "If they had asked about Mossad I probably would have told them anything they asked about."

"You...didn't say anything?"

Ziva's head whipped towards him now. "I may be many things, but I am _not_ a traitor."

He took her hands, gave them a squeeze. "I know. Ziva, I've known men who were taken prisoner and they squealed before anyone even came near."

She seemed to pause. "You...have been held prisoner?"

Damon nodded slowly. "South America. Colombia." He grimaced. "One of my men got cocky, decided he would take on an enemy we were trying to take down alone."

"You went after him?"

"Ziva, we're talking about you, not me."

She smiled. "So this is why you got me drunk."

Damon smiled. "No, that was because I don't like hurting you. This is just a side effect. And not really a bad one." He shifted, moved his legs underneath him enough that he could sit down comfortably. "Who came for you?"

She sighed, wondering if she could continue telling him or not. On one hand it felt wonderful to tell him these things, things she couldn't bring herself to say even to her team. On the other hand, she was frightened by the fact that she felt so at ease with him. Though she didn't want to admit it, she felt like if she opened up to him, he too would have power over her, like her father. That sort of control could break her if he misused it.

She sobered at the thought, the nice, fuzzy feeling slipping away. She studied his face closely, the sincerity in it, saw that he was honest and...she didn't know what, only that she knew as a gut instinct that he was someone she could trust to catch her if she fell.

Maybe he was doing it even right now.

"Who else?" she said at last, quietly. "They dragged me in one day, and I was so close to being dead I thought I actually was, because Tim was lying on the ground and Tony was tied in a chair. The man was trying to make one of us tell about NCIS by threatening the other..."

"What happened?" his thumb brushed over the back of her hand absently, as if it was natural for him to comfort her, and his eyes held honest concern. She liked that.

"Gibbs." She smiled. "Tony was telling the man how they'd tracked him because he drank CafPow, the drink Abby always seems to be inhaling, and taunting the man. He even told the man he was about to die!"

"What did he say to that?"

"He thought Tony was saying he would kill the bastard. Tony said he wouldn't, but that Gibbs's former profession had been as a sniper."

Damon grinned. "And that's when Gibbs took him out."

Ziva nodded. "I cannot explain how I felt when they took me back to the US. Part of me had expected to die when I took the case, maybe even hoped I would. But being back here... this place is my _home._ Immediately upon my return my father sent one of my men from the first mission to frame me for killing  
a marine."

"He what?!" Damon couldn't believe that a human being could be so despicable.

Ziva gave a watery chuckle at his outrage. "He wanted to keep me, no matter what cost. If I were convicted-or even suspected-of killing one the marine, I would have had to go back to Israel."

Damon grit his teeth. Right now was not the time to erupt. She needed his support right now, not his anger at a man thousands of miles away. "What did NCIS have to say about that?"

Ziva laughed. "Abby faked evidence so the man my father sent would have to tell the truth! Gibbs actually argued with him, and my father."

"That man," Damon said slowly, "is not your father. He may have helped create you, but no more than that. There is nothing of him in your personality. He is manipulative and cruel, and he does not deserve you. You are loyal and smart and people here appreciate you for being the person you are, not who they  
want you to be."

For whatever reason, the tears started again. It was so good to hear someone say out loud what was screaming inside of her. That it was Damon who understood. "You know what Gibbs said when it w-was done?"

"What, Ziva?" his tone ached with tenderness.

"Welcome home." Sobs broke her then and she let them, finally letting them escape after all these months of hiding them.

"Oh, babe," Damon murmured, and picked her up. She felt so fragile in that moment, so unlike her normal self, the tough woman she always presented. He understood what the effort took sometimes and couldn't imagine what sort of stress she had been under lately to make everything seem okay.

He sat down on the couch, holding her tightly and letting her cry it all out. He had done this for his sisters when he was younger, but it was different with Ziva. With them it had been because he had felt like their protector, like he had to make everything better for them. With Ziva, he wanted to make things better, needed to. If it meant beating the shit out of the man who called himself her father, he'd love to. If it meant just being there for her and giving her a shoulder to cry on, he could do that too.

At the moment, he felt a deep and powerful need to do the first, but she needed the latter, so he felt content with stroking her back and seeing her through her grief.

It was a while later that her heartbreaking sobs died to tears, and then from tears to deep, even breathing. Looking down, Damon smiled at her face while she slept, how peaceful and innocent it was. So much had happened to her, yet still she kept going. A lesser person would have crumpled, but not his Ziva. Well, not _his_ Ziva, but...his Ziva. A fighter, and loyal to a fault. Everything he'd never even dreamed of. She had taken everything life had thrown at her and not buckled once. She was someone he would fight for-and with, but he wouldn't mind that. She would be the type of woman to defend him if he went down, to chew his ass out if he was wrong, and love him as deeply as he would her.

When she finally figured out that he was there to stay, that was. Until then, he would have the lovely work of being in her company so much that it would become weird without him, until she cane to realize that it wasn't just the fact that their lives were in danger or Gibbs's order that kept him around her.

Hah, he would have some fun... his thoughts drifted blurrily as he struggled to stay awake long enough to carry her back to her bed and tuck her in, then stumble back towards the couch. The shirt felt odd with only one sleeve, so he tugged it off, thanking the fact that Ziva kept her apartment warm enough that he could do so and not freeze his torso off, and that she had a couch deep enough that he could sleep comfortably on it.

Maybe he should just leave it at thanking for Ziva...

* * *

**_A/N: _**_Hello my few and much beloved readers! I loved making this chapter because I wanted to show a side to both of them that I don't think you really get to see with just their short clips together, so this is how they are when they're finally able to open up and stop having to be tough. It was really, really fun making this! Hope you love it too, and feel free to tell me what you think or any suggestions you have for future chapters! Much love!!! _~Kasha


	5. NC5S

_**A/N: **Thank you for being patient! I love that people actually want to read this. It makes me happy. This is going to get going again, I promise! I just need to know for sure which way I'm taking this story. :P Okay! Now to what you really want to read! Much love! _~Kasha

* * *

Ziva woke to a wonderful smell, something that gave her a strange feeling of happiness. Raising her head, she noticed firstly that she was _not_ in her living room. Why was she in her bed? She couldn't recall ever going to bed last night...

Last night.

The memories of yesterday poured into her head now, and she closed her eyes tightly. How could she have been so weak? She had cried all over Damon... who had just held her. She rolled this information over in her mind for a moment, confused. Why would he do such a thing? No one had ever held her while she had cried before, so she wondered why _he_, of all people, would. They hadn't known each other very long, it was true. But maybe he felt the same pull she did. That odd sense of belonging, and not just that-- of rightness.

She quickly dislodged this notion from her brain. How could he? 'You're being silly,' she chided herself, and got up from the bed. As soon as she did she felt the jeans she still wore shift uncomfortably, stiff from so many hours of remaining in one place.

She mumbled a little, moving like she usually did in the morning--slowly. Her aching body was slow to respond to the orders her brain gave it, but she finally pulled on loose cotton pants and tank that wouldn't bother the stitches on her arm. It was only then that she noticed that her shoes and socks had been taken off.

And for some unknown reason, she felt a warm feeling at the thought that Damon would be enough of a gentleman to take her socks and shoes off, but leave the rest of her clothes alone, and then tuck her into bed after she had cried all over him. To think that someone as bulky and massive as Damon would be gentle and laugh as he did... He confused her. Attracted her. And she still hadn't yet decided whether she liked it or not.

The smell prevailed again and caught her attention. Coffee? And food. Peppers, she knew instantly from the delicious smell in the air.

What was going on?

Ziva silently opened the door and crept down the hall, moving with no noise until she came around the corner to the kitchen and nearly laughed.

Damon was currently leaning his giant frame of muscles against the counter next to the stove, back turned partially to her as he read a book. And not just _any_ book, she saw with a jolt of shock. It was the Sherrilyn Kenyon novel that she had only just gotten, the one Abby had suggested-no, demanded-she read!

What was Corporal Damon Worth doing in her kitchen with a romance novel about vampire-like people?

"You seem to be farther along than I am. Please, tell me what is going on."

Ziva did not expect an arm to swing at her face, but reactions had taught her to duck and chop towards the elbow, in order to break it and hopefully discourage another attack. She ducked automatically, but refrained from breaking bones so early in the morning. She merely looked at the extended arm as she stood up and smiled, adrenaline rushing.

Damon, on the other hand, looked horrified. "Jesus, Ziva. Shit."

"Monosyllabic in the mornings, I see." She grinned wickedly and moved to see what was happening in the part of the book he was on.

"Oh, uh..." he shut the book and handed it to her, and Ziva had the undeniable and extraordinary pleasure of seeing his ears turn a bright and vibrant red. "I was looking for something to read while I was...uh...waiting for the potatoes, and...well, I found this behind the couch-- My sisters love her, you see, so I wanted to know what was the big deal, and--"

Ziva could hardly contain her laugh, and covered her mouth with a hand in an effort to stifle it. "So you decided to read it, I see." Her eyes glinted with humor and mischief. "And how is it?"

Damon's lips tugged outwards in a torn look. "I think the safest thing to ask is where people come up with that sh--stuff."

Ziva laughed now. "That was my impression also. Only my response was not so civilized. Hence why it was behind the chair." She laughed, and he shook his head in horror of being caught reading that sort of thing. "Do the others know of your pension for reading love stories?" she couldn't help but tease.

Damon's expression was priceless. His mouth slacked open and he shoved the book at her, bending over to carefully tend to the potatoes, which she could only _assume_ was a delicate task, the way he was preparing them so tediously.

And avoiding eye-contact.

"Ziva, do you know of the American saying, 'What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas?'"

"I do not believe I have heard that particular phrase, no. Why do you ask?"

He looked over now with an embarrassed, but cheeky grin. "Cause the same applies here. What happens here _stays_ here."

Ziva's head tipped back as she laughed now. "Or you will never be able to face your group!" An emotion came and went into Damon's eyes so fast she almost missed it. "What is it you are not telling me?"

Damon didn't know whether to laugh or swear. He'd forgotten how perceptive she was. Damn.

"Damon?"

He sighed. "I am no longer part of that group. When I found out what went on behind closed doors..." he shrugged. "It wasn't right. So--"

"So you left." She shook her head. "Whenever you come near us you seem to get the short end of the rope. No, not rope. What is it?"

Damon smiled now. "Stick?" he suggested.

"Yes, stick! That is it." She smiled widely, and he noticed how lovely her face was when she smiled.

"Yeah, well, I think I owe you a thanks anyway."

Her head tilted to the side now, and her gaze was curious. "Thanks? For what reason?"

He shrugged, as if it wasn't a big deal, but his words bellied his motion. "For setting me straight. For forcing me to get cleaned up."

She looked sad now. "But all you wanted to be was a Marine."

Damon shook his head. "I wanted to be what I thought a Marine _was._ That's over and done with. And," he said with a smile, "so are these."

He pulled off the stove the most delicious-smelling potatoes she'd ever seen before. She had to make sire she wasn't drooling, just in case.

"So you do cook!" she said, and it truly did surprise her. She hadn't expected someone with his size and stature to do something as domesticated as cook. And well, going by the smell.

Damon grinned now. "Don't expect a Betty Crocker meal, but it was my favorite growing up. Ever had Potatoes O'Brian, Ziva?"

She took a bite from her plate and closed her eyes, savoring that bite. He had a desire to laugh at her expression of rapture and divinity.

"No. I believe I would remember if I had tasted something like this. You have to give me the recipe." She took another bite, her foot tapping.

Damon studied her face, how the emotions weren't an open book, but not fully closed. Enough that he could tell some things, but not what he wanted to see the most. So he took a guess, a risk, gambled on fates. And prayed that he didn't screw things up by doing this.

"I don't think so. I think I'll just keep it close. That way you'll have to come around more often."

Ziva's eyes subtly flew to his, an odd mixture of movements, but it was graceful on her--and still sharp as hell. He could see her trying to understand his meaning behind that while not be blatant and ask. After a long moment, a corner of her mouth turned up. "Since you do cook so nicely, I suppose I will."

Damon felt the tension leave his back and finished his plate of food. When he tried to wash the dishes, she wielded the wooden spoon at him, making him laugh.

"You cooked," she said evenly, with a bit of a smile, "I'll clean."

He held his hands up. "Okay. Okay. I give." He backed off and sat on a stool next to one of the counters. He watched her, the steady, smooth way she did things. It was like she was all natural fluency, moving from one task to another. She would reach for a towel to dry something off, set the plate down in the drying rack and put the towel down at the same time. It amazed him. Even now, when he wasn't in the tall, gangly and awkward stage, he never moved as liquid as she did.

"You are staring," she said without turning.

He laughed. "And caught. Were you trained to move like that?"

Now she turned back, a question written over her brow. "Like what?"

He waved his hand, not wanting to sound like an idiot twice in one day. "Like... that." He took both hands and waved them back and forth, like how a breeze would sway.

Ziva laughed. "I have no idea what you're talking about, but I believe my think my balance is just fine."

Damon chuckled and shook his head. So it was innate. "And you being so quiet when you move?"

She shook her head, now. "I am actually loud, comparing to the standards of Mussad."

"Well, then, they either aren't alive, or are extremely underweight, to make _less _noise."

This got her to laugh. "No, it just means that people like Tony would be considered elephants, or morons."

Damon laughed now, a full belly laugh. "I'm not going to ask which is more appropriate."

Ziva found herself laughing as well, and had no idea how he seemed to make her laugh so easily. Tim's attempts at humor were sweet, but unsuccessful most of the time, Tony's jokes were just annoying, and Gibbs... did Gibbs ever joke? But now she seemed to be laughing more than she had in months. Why? And did she truly want to analyze it? Ziva thought she already knew the answer to that question, and let it slide. It was nice to simply enjoy the moment.

"Well, he does have big feet," she replied with a grin.

Damon raised a brow and looked down at his own size fourteens.

"Yes, but you move quietly. Even those-" she pointed at the gigantic feet, "-do not move as loudly as he does."

"And McGee?"

She smiled, an affectionate smile that interested him. "He is like a child, but has that brain in his head that only Abby can understand."

"Who's Abby?"

Now the smile stretched wide. "Six feet and one inch of dog collar and tattoos. And very sensitive, very caring person."

Damon's brows raised at the picture she painted. "She sounds interesting."

Ziva nodded, ignoring the strange feeling in her gut at those words. "She is. She is extremely intelligent, but almost... breakable, the way she puts herself out for other people."

His smile was... what was that look? Tender? No, it couldn't be, she thought. Then what was it?

"Then it's a good thing she has such a protective group." A thought came to his head. "What does McGee think of her?"

He watched as her smile grew, and she rolled her eyes. "They are more than half in love with each other and don't seem to realize it at all!"

"Really?" he couldn't imagine Mr. Straight-Edge with Ms. Goth.

She nodded though, grinning. "They are-" she broke off a warning in the back of her neck. It was like a shiver, whispering that trouble was coming.

"What's wrong?" Damon stood now, his body ready for action, from the look on her face.

It was the moment he stood up that she knew what would happen. "Get down!" She launched herself at him the same time she said it, and he caught her and rolled just as glass broke.


	6. NC6S

_**A/N:** Okay, everybody cheer now! Because I adore this scene, and I'm hoping you guys will too. Why is it adorable? One word: Abby. Abyy is so amazing, and Gibbs is secretly a matchmaker, I swear. You can just see the wheels turning in his head when he placed Ziva and Damon together during this recent episode. *Dramatic fangirl sigh* Wonderful..._

_DEAR CASS: Thank you for pestering me to get my ass in gear. :) It worked. _

_Much love! _~Kasha

_

* * *

  
_

Ziva felt fire explode in her shoulder, over his heart, but muffled a sound against him. They landed hard, and rolled behind the counter, safe for the moment. She focused on deep and even breathing, though it sent fire through her.

"Ziva?" Damon looked down at her to find blood already pouring from the wound. "Ziva! How bad?"

She grit her teeth. "We have to get out of here."

He looked around. The sniper had them pinned In the kitchen. If they moved beyond the counter, he would have them. _Shit_.

"Turn out the light."

He looked down, startled. "What?" He propped her up so her uninjured shoulder was nestled under his. He looked around and grabbed a towel from the fridge door handle. He bundled it and applied pressure, hoping to stem the blood flow. She hissed, muscles tensing, but didn't make a sound other than that.

"Turn the light off. The closest building is across a children's park. He is either in one of the windows or on the roof, so he has to be using a scope." She breathed in harshly, and Damon felt his blood boil. Someone had shot Ziva.

Had tried to _kill_ him, but she had jumped in front of him. He shut his eyes for a moment, wanting to get that sight out of his head. As long as he lived, he'd never get rid of the feel of her body jerking against his as she took the bullet meant to kill him.

But now wasn't the time to hesitate. He opened his eyes and a drawer under the stove. Grabbing a long, thin cookie sheet, he looked up at the light switch. From his angle, he could hit it and flip it up-and off-if he could hit it.

He was a Marine. Of course he could hit his target.

Sending the sheet flying with a powerful flick of his arm and wrist, the lights went off and he ran. He had an arm around her waist and the other reaching for her cell phone and keys. He could almost feel the sniper trying to adjust, but the early morning shadows were to their advantage as he smashed the door open with his foot and ran down the hallways.

"You're paying... for that." She forced herself to keep up with him, ignoring the pain and racing down the flight of stairs to the parking lot.

Damon laughed once, not looking at her as he ripped the door open, settled her inside, then rolled over the hood smoothly to jump into his side. By now the shooter would be looking for them, watching, so he would take streets blocked by the building itself. He gunned the accelerator and raced down side streets, alleys. "How you holding up?" He slowed to get into regular traffic and glanced over at her, a worried look crossing his brow.

"I have had worse." She looked over and smiled.

Damon didn't know whether he liked that or not. "Not exactly encouraging," he grumbled.

She winced as someone cut him off, and he swore at the asshole. "Easy. Why don't you call Gibbs. Tell him to get Ducky to meet us at the loading dock."

Damon shook his head. "We need to get you to the hospital."

She closed her eyes. "I do not trust the hospital. Nor will I, until we know what is going on. It is too easy for deaths to... occur there."

He sighed. "Fine. How bad is it?"

"I told you-"

"How. Bad?" he ground out.

"Ziva," he warned.

"Fine. It is not good."

He could read between the lines. He picked up the phone and pressed two, then send.

"Gibbs."

"Gibbs, this is-"

"Since you don't have an accent and you don't seem to be female, I'm gonna say Worth. Where's Ziva?"

"She's in the passenger side and won't let me take her to the damn hospital. So if you could tell-"

"What do you mean, hospital?" Gibbs was _not_ happy now.

"Someone found out who we were and took a shot. Ziva took the bullet meant for me."

There was silence for a moment, tense, and even though he couldn't see the man, Damon thought there were thoughts running through his head, memories.

"Bring her in, Worth. We'll meet you at the docking bay. Tell her no more heroics."

"Will do." Worth clicked the phone off and looked over to her. "Gibbs says to knock it off."

"I do not think... he said that." Her voice was quiet now, and Damon sped up automatically.

"Hang in there. We'll get to NCIS in two minutes. And yes he did. He specifically told me to tell you to knock it off," he jibed.

"Gibbs does not use that language."

She was too pale for his liking. Beneath the olive skin was a grey white tinge that scared him. "I'm sure he has. Can't you just see Gibbs letting loose some 60s slang?"

A corner of her lips curled up, but she didn't speak. He went to the gate and was about to show the man Ziva's ID when a call came through. Damon wanted to swear at the man that he couldn't wait when a buzzing sound rang, and the gate opened. He wasn't about to ask questions. Speeding through, he saw the team waiting and parked smoothly. He raced over and opened her door, gently picking her up and running as smoothly as possible to the docking slab.

"My god," Ducky said, as Damon laid her down on the metal gurney. He followed as she was wheeled away, for once feeling helpless and hating it.

"Corporal." He turned when he was met with the shutting metal door to autopsy.

"Worth. Dishonorably discharged, sir."

"Doesn't matter. She took the bullet?"

He nodded, head down. "She got quiet for a second, then jumped. I never saw it coming. I didn't even think!" he swung his fist and hit the wall, sending cracks spreading from the impact.

Gibbs said nothing while the younger man held his head in his hands. He'd been in that spot before. Only the woman saving him hadn't been so lucky. He understood the agony, the wondering what he could have done different.

So he waited.

"She yelled get down and tackled me like a damn lineman! She didn't yell or make a sound. Just jerked and fell." He scrubbed his eyes, looking haunted. "I can still feel it."

"She's alive, Corporal. That's the only thing that matters." Damon didn't say anything, just shook his head. "Come on. Let's get some caffeine into you."

Damon raised his head and shook it again. "Thank you, but-"

"Now, Corporal."

Damon knew an order when he heard it, and he almost snapped his heels together and said sir. He straightened and his look was level. "I can't."

"You won't."

Damon nodded his head. "No, sir, I won't. This is my fault that she's in there. I won't go and drink coffee when she's in there having a bullet that should have hit me be taken out."

Gibbs gave him a look that meant business. But wen he opened his mouth, it was not the blistering he expected. "Alright."

Damon felt shock, but didn't let it show. With a nod to Gibbs, he sat down on the bench and prepared to wait.

His wait was disturbed as clashing and thumping assailed his ears. Before him stood a goth with tall boots that brought her nearly as tall as him standing up.

"Is she in there? Is she okay? What happened?!" A hundred and forty some pounds of rubber, mini-skirt, tattoos and bondage collar turned and pinned him with ice-blue eyes. "You! You're that super-steroid-marine that tried to kill them! What are you doing here?"

"I'm here because she wouldn't let me take her to a hospital," he said wearily.

Her eyes narrowed. "What do you care? Aren't you drugged up or something?"

He shook his head. "No ma'am. And I do care, a great deal. She's there because of me."

"You _shot_ her?!" she stepped threateningly towards him.

He lowered his head, unable to stand the guilt eating at him. "No. _I_ should be the one in there. I should be the one with the bullet." He pulled his hair, wanting to redo the day and keep her from reaching him in time. "She saved me," he said raggedly.

Abby looked down at the man who looked so tortured and regretted that she'd spoken so quickly again. "She did the hero thing, didn't she?"

He raised his head and his eyes were so torn she bit her lip. He didn't even have to say anything. Abby caved and sat down beside him, gripping his huge hand. "She's Ziva. She'll be okay. And she probably wouldn't want you to be thinking it's your fault. So you better stop, or she'll kick your butt when she's better."

He choked a laugh and nodded. "Yes ma'am."

"And stop calling me ma'am."

"Yes sir."

She gave him an approving look. "I changed my mind. You're not a bad guy. You have permission to date her."

Damon was shocked out of his morbid thoughts. "Excuse me?"

Abby grinned. "I'm not blind, you know. The way you're acting, you have to like her. A lot."

Damon didn't know exactly how to answer that. "Well..."

"It's okay. I won't tell. She likes sunflowers, you know. Or tiger lilies."

His interest was sparked. "Flowers?"

Abby nodded. "But she won't tell anyone. But I've had both in my lab and she stared at them. I think she should have some when she wakes up, don't you think?"

He nodded. "I can't see why not."

He had no idea that he'd fallen into the Matchmaker Abby trap. "Excellent! I need to get my hourly CafPow. Come on."

Damon laughed, but looked down. "I don't believe I can go out in this." He gestured to the blood-covered clothes.

"Oh yeah. Don't worry. It's just in the court-thing. There's a kiosk that sells flowers not far from the cafe here, so you won't have to worry about people giving you weird looks. They're kind of used to it." She beamed a smile and pulled him along.

Gibbs watched as they walked out of the elevator towards the lobby, then came back not five minutes later with sunflowers and CafPow. He hid a smile behind his coffee. The kid had never stood a chance against Abs when she had something planned.

Or him, although he'd never acknowledge it.

After all, it was all just in a good day's work.


	7. NC7S

_**A/N:** Hello! Thank you all for being so patient! I'm so sorry it has taken so long to update! As a quick update, I will say that I was very sick, but got better, got swamped by schoolwork, graduated, and now have a large chunk of time before I have to start college. Fuuuun time in between. :) So, without further adieu, Ziva and Damon! Much love! _~Kasha

* * *

Ziva woke to sunflowers and painkillers. The latter of which made her head fuzzy and distorted, but the first easily outdid the discomfort of the second. Who knew she loved those things? So silly, having affection for something like flowers... but she did. And these were her favorite. The big, silly, happy color and shape of them made her smile and she sat up slowly, ignoring the pain sawing dully at her shoulder.

"Ziva!"

She was interrupted in her love affair by the deep voice catching her attention from the door. That was why she hated painkillers-they played with her senses, made them weak. She hadn't even heard the door slide open, certainly hadn't heard his boots on the cement. Although that could be easily explained by the way he was moving in a manner completely silent, striding towards her at that very moment.

She blamed the increased heart rate on the drugs, too.

"How are you?" he asked softly, looking worried.

She smiled a little goofily. "I am fine. It's a shoulder wound, nothing life-threatening."

A frown marred his brow, turned the already dark eyes to black depths. "Except for the fact that it tore through muscle, inches from your heart, and the doc-"

"Ducky," she supplied with that same smile.

"Ducky," he corrected, "said you're damn lucky it didn't hit that or your lung. It was too close, Ziva."

"I don't think Ducky said damn," she said absently.

Damon sighed, pulling his hair back. A lucid Ziva was bad enough. He couldn't keep up with her then, let alone drugged. "You're a little loopy, huh?" he finally sighed with a smile.

She scowled a little, but the grin tugging at her lips ruined the stern expression. "Oh no, not at all."

He felt the tension leave him in a rush, and with it the nervous energy that had kept him awake so long. His wide shoulders loosened with the release of the edgy tension that had been riding him hard, and he shook his head, propping a hip against the side of the gurney.

"Oh yeah, just a lot. I bet if I asked you anything right about now you'd spill deep dark secrets," he said wickedly, leaning his head close to hers.

She arched a brow. Damn, even half-wasted she could tie him in knots with one look. "I do not think so, Damon. I do not 'spill' so easily."

The challenge was too much for him to resist. With a reckless grin, his eyes held hers captive. "Okay, then what's going on between you and Dinozzo?"

He knew it was a big risk, but his gut told him to ask anyway. She sputtered, obviously shocked, and her eyes held a confused emotion. "I don't understand," she said.

"You two always seem to be... around one another. And for more than just work." Damon felt like he was pushing now, perhaps stretching the limits, but he couldn't stop himself.

Ziva was silent for a minute, as if wondering how to answer, then shrugged. "When I first came to the US we... had an affair, but now we are comfortable with being friends."

"Just friends?" he persisted.

Her head cocked to the side, one brow arching and a small smile tugging at the corner of that great mouth. "Why do you ask?" her voice held something kin to amusement, and it made Damon shift a little on principle.

"Because he seems over-protective of you."

"Partners should protect each others' backs."

He narrowed his gaze at her. "You know what I mean," he said roughly.

She laughed. "Yes, I do." Another pause, another shrug. "There is nothing between Tony and I, Damon."

He felt the knot that had formed in his stomach dissolve. He couldn't deny the relief he felt at knowing she wasn't seeing someone like Dinozzo. The man came from money, knew how to talk to a woman and had a connection with her that Damon didn't have. He'd been more than a little worried about this, and he had to admit it to himself.

"You are thinking a lot. What about?" she asked, sitting up fully so it put them closer together.

He noticed how much her eyes were like dark whiskey, honey, amber gems perfectly tilted in her gold-dust face. He suddenly felt a need too strong to resist- a need to pull her even closer and bring those tempting lips to his. The compulsion overtook him before he knew what was even going on in his head. His brain clicked off and his body leaned forward, eyes intent on hers.

A throat cleared.

The pair jumped back to see one Leroy Jethro Gibbs, the forever Marine, with a slightly amused look on his face. "You two going to decide to date on an autopsy table?"

Damon couldn't help the chuckle that escaped him at that. Jesus, the man had a mean streak in him a mile wide.

"No, sir." He glanced at a confused-looking Ziva. "Not on an autopsy table, that is."

Behind his back, Gibbs was secretly pleased, but outwardly rolling his eyes. Not the either of them noticed. Ziva's drugged brain was slowly recognizing what those words had meant.

"You mean to say-"

"Exactly what he meant," the team leader said with an arched brow. "Are you good to go, Ziva, or are we going to stand here all day discussing this?"

Damon looked over his shoulder with an arched brow of his own. "You wouldn't have to stand here all day if you didn't interrupt things."

Gibbs's grin grew just that little bit. He knew he'd liked this kid-man-for a reason. Quick to think, just as smart on his feet, tough, and loyal to hell and back. He'd be good for her.

"That your final answer, Corporal, or do you want to help us find out who shot at you?" he deliberately pressed that button to get the man's attention. Nothing like reminding him of near death to clear romantic things from the brain.

The effect was almost immediate. Damon's face closed down and a muscle ticked in his jaw. "No, sir. I'd like to find that out very much."

Ziva was alarmed at the sudden change. She put a hand on his shoulder and turned the big man towards her enough that she could see his face completely. What she saw startled her-worried her.  
"We will be there in a moment, Gibbs," she said with a quick, firm look to him. The man paused, thought about it, then nodded and turned out the glass doors.

"What?" Damon asked as his dark eyes looked into her even darker ones.

"What is that look for?" she asked bluntly.

Damon arched a brow. "What look?" he returned in a dark tone.

"_That_ one." She pointed at his face, one solitary finger wielded with the scary effect of a schoolteacher. Any lesser person would have cringed before that.

"It's called an expression Ziva, and this one is called 'anger.'"

"It's guilt," she cut through the bullshit like a knife through butter. "And why is it there?"

He grit his teeth. Of course she'd see it. Damn woman didn't miss a damn thing. Not for the first time today he felt the need to swear. "Just drop it," he growled, and got off the table.

He did _not_ expect to be planted on the floor. Faster than he could ever have expected from someone so drugged with painkillers, she had hopped off the table without making a noise, caught his ankle with her foot and somehow pulled his leg out from underneath him in a way that made him land not on his face, but on his backside.

And she did all of that with one shoulder taped to hell and back and a hazed mind.

With her foot planted on his chest, she pierced him with a muddled-yet _still_ somehow sharp-gaze. It was a blunt force blow, or a pierce from a deep brown stone arrow, the way those eyes knocked the breath from him sometimes. Or maybe it was the concrete floor that had done that, but her eyes finished the punch.

"I will not 'drop it' until you tell me what you think you are guilty of," she said testily.

His own temper frayed a little and his instincts almost took control of him. His hands automatically came to her foot to throw her off, but he looked at the tape that held the bandages over the wound she had suffered. For him. And the impotent rage filled him with the knowledge that she had been shot, and guilt that it wasn't him with the hole in his chest.

"_That_," she said, pointing with her right hand, so she didn't pull at things yet to heal. "That look right there. Why?"

Damon clenched his eyes shut tightly, and a muscle in his jaw throbbed with tension. He pushed the rage down though, and looked at her, wordlessly conveying all of the fear he'd felt during that terrifying drive to save her and his need to protect her. "That," he jerked his head towards her, with the bullet wound and all, "should have been me. I should have acted quicker, kept you out of the way." His voice was heavy with the guilt that tore inside him.

Ziva looked a cross between pissed and resigned. Apparently a mix won out, because an irritated, long-suffering sigh escaped her before she took her foot off his chest. Before he could get up, she sat next to him, folding herself neatly so that her eyes looked down at his. Those deep brown, whiskey orbs held resignation, irritation, amusement and something else, something that made his breath stop for just a little moment. Something he hoped was affection.

"Damon, I don't know if you remember what happened exactly, but I do. I distinctly remember _throwing_ myself at you, with no prior warning. Does that sound like it would've given you time to react?"

He ground his teeth. "That's not an excuse-"

"No, it is most definitely not," she said seriously. "That's the truth, and you feeling guilt is ridiculous."

He sat up, and she had to look up at him now, raise her head a little to keep her eyes locked with his furious and tortured ones. "Ridiculous? Really? Because it makes damned sense to me. That bullet should have killed me, but instead nearly murdered you. And I'm not supposed to feel guilty? How, Ziva?" The anger wore out, and he looked down at her hands. He took her right one in his left, bringing it up to his mouth and pressing the center of her palm against his lips.

Because the truth was, he was terrified he was falling in love with her. And if she died, part of him-the good part-would too.

Her eyes grew wide as his rose back to hers, and he couldn't hide the emotions in his dark gaze. He knew he was putting himself in a vulnerable position, something that went against every fighter's instinct he possessed, but he held himself completely still-completely bare-under her scrutinizing, searching look.

She always surprised him. Ziva David would never cease to surprise him. He'd expected her to pull back, say it was too fast, they barely knew each other, something like that.

But she didn't. She leaned forward and took his lips-and she took them. The mouth that had tempted him for years since their first meeting now pulled him under her spell, and he couldn't stop it from happening.

Ziva kissed him, long and just a little rough, before she pulled back. "I am... glad you feel the same way," she said haltingly, and for the first time he noticed color riding her cheeks. She blushed!

He chuckled. "Oh, yeah, me too," he drawled just a little, and made her laugh.

"Don't get cocky, though. I still have the weapon of the book." She grinned wickedly at him.

Damon was confused now. "Book?"

"Oh, yes, a certain romanc-"

"Oooh. That one." Now he cleared his throat. "I suppose we're even, then?"

She laughed, a scary, cackling sound. "Oh, I don't think so. Not for a long, long time."

He grinned. So she was thinking of a long time. He felt excitement and pleasure at her words, the fact that she had accepted him-with all his mistakes and sudden reappearance in her life- completely.  
Because she was a long, long time person for him. She was someone he could fight with,_ for_, back to back. She was someone he could have for a partner, an equal, a better half. Perhaps that was a bit far, now, but he'd make sure they had all the time in the world.

As soon as he killed the bastard who had threatened her and shot at him-her.

He stood, helped her up against her protests, and leaned down to kiss her again, gentle, because of her shoulder, but wild and untamed. She responded in kind, threading her fingers through his hair and pressing harder.

They broke apart, needing to settle down at the same moment, and he pressed his forehead to hers. "The place could explode on us and we'd never notice," he laughed raspily.

Ziva took a deep breath to settle her system and took his hand-a surprise that thrilled him as much as it shocked him, because he'd never have pegged either of them to be the hand-holding type, and yet... it felt so _right_.

She took his hand in hers and smiled, just a simple smile, yet it warmed his insides in a soft way. "I think it could fall on us and we'd never notice," she laughed, and started towards the door. He grinned and followed, feeling like she had bludgeoned him over the head to get him to feel peaceful.

And it had worked.


	8. NC8S

Gibbs listened for the two coming up the stairs. He might not have been a professional sniper for years, but his senses weren't a damn bit duller than they had been a decade ago. And those senses told him that neither Damon nor Ziva were leading the way – meaning they were walking side-by-side. And closely, he inferred from the way the sounds of their shoes on the carpet almost sounded as one noise.

Good. If Ziva settled down, the rest would follow. Or, rather Abby would blindside McGee and Tony would find some... woman. Someone special, someone who laughed and made him forget about Jeanne. Someone who would be difficult and make him chase after her.

And if he continued thinking like that, he'd start looking at bridal magazines and different types of veils and mother-in-laws...

And that was the point to just say no.

With a grin, he heard a slight pause, then the door opening. He looked up to see that they had disengaged themselves so that Ziva entered first, followed by the corporal, who closed the door behind them.

Vance nodded at Ziva, then pinned the much taller man with a solid stare that had made scores of people-young, old, big, small, soldier or politician alike- shift on their feet and lower their gazes. So either the boy was stupid, or he was sturdy enough himself to stand up against the director.

And Jethro definitely didn't think the kid was dumb.

"Damon Worth, ex-marine," Damon stated unflinchingly, but Ziva grinned briefly, obviously fighting the urge to laugh, and the corner of Worth's lips twitched up the slightest bit before he rigidly brought them under control again. Jethro had to hide his own smile. Apparently Ziva had told him one of the Gibbs Philosophies, this one being the lack of existence of an 'ex-marine.'

Vance didn't share this inside knowledge, but he didn't let the hidden joke bother him a it. "Dishonorably discharged for the very thing that made you a soldier in the first place."

"No, sir."

"No?" The director arched a brow and the toothpick moved to the other side of his mouth.

"Steroids don't make a marine, sir."

"Character does." A smile tugged the edges of Vance's mouth. Apparently he liked the kid, too. "Alright, Worth. Tell me what's been going on."

Ziva looked between him and Gibbs. "You mean you did not-"

"I mean, Miss David, that someone-" there was a pointed look in Gibbs's direction, "failed to mention the fact that one of my agents had been shot at. So why doesn't Mr. Worth explain to me just all of what has been going on."

Damon nodded, and explained everything that had happened since his mission under Colonel Bell, including his meeting with Ziva at that point. From then, he moved on to the details of the next encounter, minus the being knocked flat by Ziva swinging from a tree, of course. That had seemed awe-some then, but he doubted that the director of NCIS would agree with that. So he just continued, with Ziva adding in her translation for good measure. When it came time to tell if what happened in her apartment, however, Damon's voice chilled and became dangerously matter of fact, clipped.

Whoever had pulled the trigger was a dead man, because if Worth ever got his hands on the man behind the scope, there wouldn't be enough left of him for the authorities to bag and tag. Gibbs understood that deep, ice-cold rage. It was the type born of a helplessness and terror that collided against the warrior instinct so hard it left the man reeling, shaken inside. He'd known it once, and it had changed him forever. If Ziva hadn't made it, he suspected history would have repeated itself in the form of the young man before him.

"Well," Vance said, breaking the silence that had fallen upon them, "it seems to me like you can't go back. Ziva's apartment - and yours, I have no doubt-" he nodded at Damon, "will be under watch. You'll have to get a new car for right now, and somewhere safe to stay. If someone found you that fast, it's someone with a lot of power behind them. Ziva's information is high stuff, not something an ordinary civilian would be able to get their hands on."

"You're thinking high up," Damon said.

Vance nodded. "And I'm thinking dirty."

Gibbs had a thought tugging the back of his mind, but he didn't voice it. He couldn't say it and risk having the marine in front of him go off and kill somebody when Gibbs wasn't completely sure yet, or even had proof. So he let the thought still and watched the scene before him.

"Okay..." Ziva thought over things. "La Grenouille was high up. And he was most definitely dirty."

"No motive." Vance was sure in his words. Perhaps he was on the same track Gibbs was.

"Okay. Jeanne has her father do it. She has the motive."

"Jeanne wouldn't get her hands dirty like that. She's no more a killer than Abby." Gibbs answered this time, and his gaze was unshakable.

Ziva sighed, but nodded. Not that Abby couldn't kill someone, she absolutely had the knowledge, but it just wasn't in her to take a life. She was the sort of person who would do anything to protect someone and save them. So if Gibbs said Jeanne couldn't do it by comparing her to Abby, she didn't do it.

"Then where does this lead us?" Ziva pushed a bit of fallen hair out of her eyes and sighed. Both of the older men noticed how Damon looked at her with worry. It wasn't obvious at all – in fact, he hid it very well, but the two men were the sort that noticed every detail, and one such as the look in the marine's eyes, no matter how brief or concealed, stood out to them like black on snow.

Vance turned to Gibbs slightly and raised an eyebrow. 'Is this really-' was the sort of look it sent.

In return, Gibbs just grinned quickly and shrugged, sipping his coffee.

"I think we should stop for today," Damon said firmly, looking down at Ziva with a worried, almost tender look.

Ziva balked, offended. "What? I am fine."

"You're drugged, tired and achy. And I don't know about you, but the day has definitely caught up with me. I need sleep, and. I'm not going to get any unless I know someone's not going to take a shot at us. Capiche?"

Ziva looked like her temper was starting to boil, so Gibbs stepped in – however much he wanted to see the fireworks about to happen. "Alright. I need to see Abby on a case we got this morning. Leon, you got a place for NCIS business?"

"Like a stash place? The sort that all agencies were told very firmly to discontinue having after the incident in LA with Ala A Din Keshwar?" Vance asked with a brow raised.

"Like a place no one else knows about that will be safe for them to camp out until we know for sure what's going on sort of place."

Ziva stirred at this. "No. In no way will I be 'stashed' somewhere while everyone tries to find out who is behind this. I saw the men, I can identify them. I can help."

Damon looked down at her again. As much as he wanted her somewhere safe, away from danger, he understood completely. "I'm in as well."

Vance looked at them both for a long minute, attempting to wear them down, but it didn't work. Both were stubborn and strong-willed, and matched his stares levelly.

"I'll be damned, Gibbs. We've got mutiny on our hands."

Gibbs laughed once. "No more so than you or I would have, Director. So do we charge them or let them help?"

"Given the circumstances, we need all the help we can get. I want whoever is behind this shut down and locked up before any more of my agents are targeted." His gaze was rock solid when he looked back at the two. The expression clearly stated no arguments. "You two will start with the investigation first thing tomorrow. Today and the rest of the night, you will go where I tell you, all electronic devices off and you will not leave the place until you come back tomorrow morning at 0700. Got it?"

The two nodded. Leon walked back to his desk and withdrew a Manila envelope, filled with a map with a location circled and keys.

"There's a woman who takes care of this place when requested to. Take the vehicle in the underground parking lot, level 3, spot 385. Don't stop unless for lights, don't get caught. Stay low, and Miss David?"

Ziva looked up at him from her examination of the map. "Yes, Director?"

"No more heroics. I will not lose a good agent to a case of hero syndrome. Do we have an understanding?"

Ziva smiled a little, just with her eyes. "Yes, Director."

Vance handed the envelope to Damon. "Then you'd better get going."

* * *

When the two had left, Gibbs turned to the director and held a steady blue gaze with the man.

"You're thinking exactly what I'm thinking," he said without preamble.

"And just what exactly is that, Special Agent Gibbs?"

"That we pissed someone off, and they're getting back."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Gibbs. And if I did, I don't have the proof yet to back up such a statement." The director said this with an inclination of his head, an obvious statement.

"Hint taken, Director." He stood from his lean against the table and strode towards the door. "But Leon," he said, turning just as he reached the handle, "if I'm right, it's high up, and there are more people involved than just our key suspect. It's going to have to be fast and solid. Maybe even off the record, if need be to keep her safe."

Vance nodded, leaning back in his chair now. "She know too much now?"

Gibbs nodded. "Absolutely. And they're both smart. Once they get past the initial shock, they'll figure it out. And when they do, you know how Worth will react."

Vance nodded. "Then we'll just have to make sure he's preoccupied, won't we?" He grinned, causing one in return from Jethro.

Like any help was needed to keep the marine occupied. All it took at the moment was a pair of chocolate whiskey eyes.


End file.
